Jasmine Cephas Jones is done waiting for permission. “I woke up one day and I was like, I’m gonna make an album—and I’m gonna do it how I want to do it,” she says, and Phoenix, her full-length debut, burns with the clarity and defiance of someone who’s finally driving their own narrative. You probably know her as an original Schuyler sister in Hamilton, or from Ava DuVernay’s Origin, but now she’s showing her hand as a director, producer, and songwriter. “This isn’t just a party,” she says. “This is the celebration.”
The record came together like a creative retreat disguised as a beach hang. Jones rented an Airbnb, set up two makeshift studios, and brought along a tribe of friends and collaborators. “We rotated rooms and wrote all day until 2 or 3 in the morning,” she says. “We left with 33 ideas. Thirteen became the album.” The vibe was less ‘industry camp’ and more ‘artist commune with a killer breakfast spread.’ “My sister made dinner every night,” she laughs. “It was very Big Chill, but with a lot more AutoTune.”
Despite the casual setup, the music itself is precise and intentional. There’s Stevie Wonder-level musicianship, D’Angelo groove, and an entire school of Prince worship—and still it sounds like nobody but Jasmine. “My stamp is leaning into my voice,” she says. “I’m not trying to sound like anybody else. I’m just allowing myself to experiment.”
Her self-directed video for the single “Baby I Can’t Give You Up” was guerrilla-style filmmaking at its finest: shot between gigs on Origin, in London, with her cousin holding a Bluetooth speaker off-camera. “People were looking at me like I was crazy,” she says, “but I told them, ‘You’re gonna love this later.’”
There’s joy in Phoenix, but it’s built on pain. “When you go through grief, you have to rewrite your own story,” she says. “I stopped caring what people think. I stopped waiting. I started leading my own life.” The record is a soundtrack to that rebirth. Tracks like “Come My Way” and “Cali” carry you from girl-group nostalgia to lush guitar solos to Prince-y breakdowns. “That one started with a bassline I recorded on my phone,” she says. “It’s literally my favorite thing I’ve ever made.”
Acting may have taught her how to embody emotion, but music lets her own it. “As an artist, you need that safe space,” she says. “And I wanted to create that. Bad.” That same spirit carried into Origin, where she shot scenes on the very ground Nazis burned books. “You stand there, and you think, ‘This is why I do this.’”
Jones is no longer a vessel for someone else’s words or notes or camera direction. She’s doing it all, and doing it loud. “Inspired people are inspiring,” she says. The good news is, she’s both.
Listen to the interview above and then check out the video below.
